Black Family Fire
by Loki Mischeif-Maker
Summary: Thirteen year old Marius Black is brimming with frustration about being a squib and determined to make magic work for him, at least until Phineas explains to his grandson that there are Black legacies that have nothing to do with spells.


**Disclaimer: **JK Rowling owns the House of Black; I can only thank her for letting us treat it like my sister treats her dollhouse.

**Author's Note:** According to the family tree at Lexicon, Sirius has a Great-Uncle Marius who was disowned for being a squib. I can only imagine how frustrating that would be in a family that places everything on purity of blood. And since I'm working on a multichaptered Alphard fic involving Marius, I thought I'd delve into his character a bit. And I threw Phineas in just because Phineas rocks. Cheers!--- Loki.

* * *

Marius Black stood in the center of the room, wand in hand and an expression of fierce determination on his face. _This_ time . . . this time he really was going to make magic work for him.

He selected a target— the quill on his cousin's desk would do; it was small and nearby, and there was no use getting his hopes up— and raised his wand. "_Accio_ quill!"

Nothing happened.

Marius bit his lip and told himself not to worry— it had taken his brother a few dozen tries to get this spell to work. Admittedly Pollux was a Hogwarts student capable of other spells, but he was also hardly the sharpest quill around. It _should_ even out.

He raised the borrowed wand once more and tried again.

And again.

And again.

Marius let his arm fall back down only after the fifteenth or sixteenth attempt, blinking back frustrated tears. Magic was will dominated, wasn't it? You had to _want_ it. And just now, he wanted that quill to move more than anything else in the world.

So what was he doing wrong?

He readjusted the collar of his robes, trying to think. He _would_ get it right. He was sick of being gawked at like something in the zoo by Pollux's or his sisters' friends in his own home. Sick of shutting his book just as it was getting interesting and growling, "What, haven't you ever seen someone read before?" Sick of knowing that what they had really never seen before at was a squib. All he needed was one spell to stop the gawking. And then maybe he wouldn't be good at magic, but he wouldn't be a squib. And if he wasn't a squib, maybe his father would acknowledge his existence once in a while.

It must be the focus, he decided. With all the frustration milling about in his head, he must have lost his focus on the feather. He steeled his resolve and forced himself to imagine the quill floating towards him and to think of nothing else before raising the wand again.

"_Accio_ qui—"

"You know," a drawling voice interrupted, "that isn't going to work."

Marius cursed under his breath. The last thing he needed was for someone to butt in, especially someone as persistently irritating as Phineas Nigellus. His focus had already evaporated entirely. "It's got to work," he grumbled. "I'm not coming down until it does."

"Then I suppose the family will miss you at supper," Phineas told him dryly. "Lycoris won't be happy, either, because unless I'm mistaken, that's his wand you're attempting to strangle."

Marius looked down. His fingers were white against the polished wood, tinged with red at his fingertips from the pressure of his grip. It took a moment or two to remember how to relax it. "It's got to work," he mumbled again. "It's . . . I . . . it's the only way I'll ever belong."

"As much as I hate to encourage this _angst_, Marius, you never will."

Marius turned around to stare at the portrait of his grandfather in alarm. It was the first time he'd heard his name all week, and not only that, Phineas _never_ said things like that. He might be distant and sarcastic, but he wasn't cruel. He thought cruelty encouraged whining, which he couldn't stand.

"One of these days, you're going to have to accept that," Phineas said. He was examining his gloves with apparent disdain, but when he caught Marius's gaze he looked up with raised brows.

Marius matched him glare for glare. There was actually a lot of family resemblance between the two— both had the Black family's swarthy complexion, storm gray eyes, and harrowing scowl. Of course, Phineas wore his green-and-silver dress robes well, but while Marius's blood and attitude might be wizarding, his body had somehow contrived to make it clear that it was far more used to Muggle slacks and jumpers than the black robes he wore whenever his parents felt obligated to push him into the family circle.

It was Phineas who finally dropped his gaze. "And you know it, too," he muttered. "You're just to stubborn to admit you do."

Marius continued to scowl for a moment, then his own glower dropped to Lycoris's wand and he flung it across the room. "I'm not . . . I can. . . ." He faded off. Phineas was right. He was thirteen now; that was two years too old to hang onto a false hope for magic.

Phineas shrugged. "I will, however, admit that you're the best potion maker in the family, if it makes you any less prone to glaring at me. The question is whether or not you're going to be mature about it and give your brother back his Potion's book."

"Pollux can get down to Diagon Alley and get himself a new Potions book," Marius grumbled. After his eleventh birthday had passed with no letter, his mother had taken pity on him and started teaching him Potions. He'd thrown his back into it, since it wasn't as if he was capable of anything else remotely magical, and he could probably pass a Potions NEWT already. "It'd be good for him to have to take the blame for something for once."

"I won't deny that," Phineas agreed. "Even though you know that he'll try to get you to go. According to your father you spend too much time in wizarding Apothecaries anyway and not enough time in your own—"

"I know what he says!" Marius spat. He couldn't bear to hear the words "your own world." The Apothecaries at Diagon Alley were a part of his world. He wasn't _all_ Muggle, after all, no matter what his father wanted to believe. "Uncle Sirius blew me off the tapestry, for Merlin's sake! He doesn't want any guests to see my birth date and ask why I'm not at school with their children. I _know_ I'm a disgrace to the family!"

Phineas sighed. "I suppose Sirius always _was_ Ursula's child," he muttered.

Marius stared at him for a minute, and suddenly he was blinking back furious tears again. He turned on his heel and started to storm out of the room.

"Where are you going?" Phineas demanded.

Marius turned around, his body quivering with indignation and framed by the doorway. "Has it occurred to you that I might not _want_ your pity?" he snapped.

For the first time in Marius's life— and he'd seen Phineas both in life and in oils— his grandfather looked taken aback, perhaps even a little sheepish. "The _pity_, boy, is that you inherited the Black family fire when it passed Pollux and your sisters by."

There were a few moments of stunned silence before Marius schooled his features into a look of surprised interest, since he knew Phineas enjoyed being gawked at about as much as he did. "What?"

"Cassiopeia and Dorea are fine-looking girls and they aren't lacking magically, but they are a pair of gossips, nothing more. Pollux is a bully, and not a particularly imaginative one," Phineas said, waving a pearly-gloved hand dismissively. "You're the one that inherited all the competitiveness, pride— although not in the family name, I might add— and stubborn nerve from myself and your father. The Black traits."

"Fat lot of good they do me without magic," Marius grumbled.

"Oh, they'll get you somewhere. Muggles aren't stupid, boy. Those traits will get you places no matter what world you're in."

Marius bit his lip. He didn't know what to say to Phineas being halfway _kind_. It had never happened before.

Meanwhile, the portrait himself glanced over his shoulder. "That's Dippet. It appears there is some issue with the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher's resignation." He sighed. "Can that man manage for five minutes without my aid?"

"You would sulk if he could," Marius pointed out.

Phineas glared halfheartedly at him. "I am not an angsty child who feels underappreciated just because decisions are made without me," he announced, although the slight smile tugging at his lips suggested that he still liked having two people trying to get or keep his attention simultaneously. "However, like all headmasters past and present, Hogwarts comes first. You'd better go down to dinner, Marius."

The boy nodded. "Thanks, Grandfather."

Before he left, Phineas glanced back. "Nonsense. Do you think I wanted to watch a thirteen-year-old boy tear up over idiocy?"


End file.
